Blanket
by jandixjunpyo
Summary: To need warmth, you must be cold. To be cold, you must first be warm. Bedsheets and blankets only cloathe so much.. for they cannot always keep out winter..


**Blanket**

The smell was still fresh. The smell of wood burning alongside dancing ashes. It was still so vividly clear. He could still _feel_ the intensity of the flames, so close to his flesh, and still, untouched by their grace. He keeps his eyes shut tightly, palms almost sweating in the disadvantage to run from the memory.

 _But it is so real.._

He reverts to this excuse quickly- more or less grateful that his mind knows better than to accept defeat during this twisted, delusional dream. But it is nights like these that bring him to life again. A remembrance as to _why_ he still breathes. The scent of life embraces him so eagerly, and he suffocates in it willingly.

With the distorted image of his parents slaughtered at his feet, his eyelids clench tighter together, heartbeat in perfect sync as it was then. He saves sadness, for perhaps, when he dies. So that he may allow the rage of revenge to come forth and take its toll. The bedsheets underneath him, move with the trembling of his body; Fists at his sides and sweat just above his brows, a soft, painful moan squeezes itself from his dried throat.

 _Don't open your eyes._

He chants this determined phrase inaudibly. His lips barely form the shapes to sound it to a whisper; but he knows it has rolled off his tongue.

 _Don't do it. Face it. Face it!_

It's repetitive now. Watching himself through his naïve eyes from then, almost as a possession. He watches a familiar, trembling hand reach out to the hair of his mother's head.

".. _Mother.."_ He chokes out, shaking ferociously with fear. "… _Father..!"_ His other hand reaches out- no, not to touch, but to _take_ _hold_ of the chill of the dead. However exceedingly hot it is next to the flames, he feels nothing but his own burning flame blow out inside him..

And he is _freezing_..

The weight of the world entangles him into a suffocating chokehold. His lungs _burn_ with a chemical much more intoxicatingly close than the flames he's respired. His gasps for air are heavy, deadly.. _determined_.

The petite form in which he lives begins to slowly fade into an unknown blackness. Now, it is the faces of his lifeless parents consumed by flames, that forever lies within the front of his memory.

And he _melts_ into winter.

The obvious expression upon his sleeping face shows he is in a time of weakness. Chest rising and falling during this internal battle, kicking untamed underneath the heat devouring his body.

 _More pain. More humiliation._

More of it. Consuming him utterly without mercy or grace. _Burning. Burning. Burning._ He cries and screams in agony with the pain of being branded like a dog. His silver locks now stick to the nape of his neck, absorbing the light sweat upon his flesh.

" _ **Please! Someone help me!"**_ Unconsciously, his hands reach out above his face. _**"I don't care who!"**_ The blankets are thrown roughly to the floor, leaving him bare and chilly with the same _hate_ he felt then.

 _It is so cold.._

His chest rises dreadfully in fierce premonition, knowing exactly who shall clothe him with warmth, and devour him in darkness when the aftermath of revenge comes.

And while he feels the impure, vile existence of his shadow form contract for his soul, deep ocean eyes open to the tenebrosity of his room. Taking in the memory, breathing it deeply into his lungs, he brings his arms back down to his beating chest. Wiping the sweat from his brow, he listens to the soft creaking of his door.

"Young Master," His shadow calls, standing within the doorway and holding a candelabrum in hand. "I heard a scream. Is everything alright?"

Ciel gives a small sigh, not gone unnoticed by his butler. "..Yes.." He speaks this answer, though they both know it is nothing near the truth. Sebastian awaits any orders his master has yet to give, eyes narrowed almost spitefully and amused. "..I am.."

 _I am so cold.._

Sebastian gives a small façade of a smile, placing a hand on his chest, where a nonexistent heart remains. "Yes, my young Lord?"

 _Help me. Anybody.._

"It is simply too cold Sebastian."

His shadow stares momentarily, his smile growing larger with the statement. "My Lord, perhaps another blanket shall properly keep you warm?"

 _I don't care.. I don't care who.._

"…Yes…"

..A blanket shall warm him just fine.

* * *

 **Yay! First Black Butler fanfic done! Took me long enough. _ I know I haven't written anything in a while, but I promise to get back on track soon. Drop a review, tell me what you think. :D Whether it's good or bad, I'll love each and every review, follow or favorite. Thanks guys. Stay happy.**

 **S** **-J.J.**


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